


Aftermath

by ifinkufreaky



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Breeding, F/M, Impact Play, Knifeplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ritual Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28605570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: How about a nice porny smut inspired by Ubbe's barechested fur mantle outfit from 6x20. PWP, heavy kinks, you could almost call it dark!Ubbe but he's still a caring Dom.
Relationships: Ubbe (Vikings)/Reader, Ubbe (Vikings)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> In keeping with the true fanfiction spirit of ignoring canon and doing whatever the fuck we want, I am taking that glorious image of Ubbe on the sacrificial altar constructed in 6x20, you know the one, when he was wearing that amazing barechested ritual garb with the fur mantle, looking every inch The King, and I’m just going to pretend everything about the context of that visual doesn’t exist. Instead, Ubbe stayed in East Anglia like a boss, and took over those Danes as their majestic pagan king. ::sticks tongue out at Michael Hirst:: Since the consent for this scenario is not explicitly laid out, we’re going to go ahead and assume that the Reader and Ubbe have been partners for a while, long enough to already have a very good idea of each others’ limits.

Your skin prickles in the chill night air, but you do not allow yourself to shiver. The sacrifice is done, blood stains the altar, still wet even now with the festivities done and the revelers all curled up to sleep it off in the hall or by their own hearths.

Your King told you to wait for him here, wearing nothing but your shift, with your arms stretched out against the supports as if you were to be the final sacrifice of the evening.

One little shiver. It wracks through your body despite your will to contain it. You know very well that you will be sacrificed this evening, to your King’s darkest desires. You know what lay behind those long looks, as his eyes tracked your every movement while you walked across his hall, when he found you in the crowd on the secluded hill, at the base of this very platform. You had tried to hide yourself after Ubbe drew the blood, too overcome with a primal lust as you watched the man transform into a god, just for a moment, upon that altar. The power to wield the magic of life and death, imbued into his broad chest, those powerful arms. Before you could melt into the shadows of the treeline, he saw you, fixed you with the fire of his icy blue eyes, marking you, claiming you, as the only one that could meet his own primal needs.

There’s no one on the hill, now. Tree branches clatter in the cool breeze, too cool, but you know that soon you will welcome it, your body will be blazing as Ubbe takes everything he needs from it.

A rustling in the grass. Your King approaches. He comes up the hill with purposeful strides, that fur mantle bright white across his shoulders in the cold light of the full moon. The bare skin of his chest blazes golden in the torchlight as he nears the dais. You are proud, so proud of yourself for waiting like this, kneeling and cold, so that the first thing he would see is your eager submission, the true mate to the blazing, cruel energy with which he climbs those dark-hewn steps.

He pauses, just beside you. Stands firm and square, masterful in his wide belt with the dagger tucked right above that hollow in his hip you love to lick.

You don’t think he has anything that soft in mind for tonight.

He tilts his head, regarding you. His eyes are still distant, imbued with that otherworldly air that coursed through him for the ritual. “Do you know what I am bringing you tonight?” he asks, voice husky.

“Pain.” You swallow against the thickness that crowds your own throat, too. “Fear. Ecstasy.”

“And you welcome it?”

You roll your shoulderblades down your back, arching your spine as you look up from your knees at him. “With all my heart, my King. Use me as you need.”

A dark, satisfied chuckle bubbles out of him. He steps close, so close, putting that wide belt in your face, the square of bare chest above framed by fur and just out of reach. He lets you look up at him, as he stands so tall and proud, lets you feel the difference in your positions. He’s every inch the King, looming above you, and then his hand cups your cheek.

It’s warm, so warm as his fingers wrap around your jaw. He hasn’t touched you all day, not with the many distractions of duty and ritual. You close your eyes and lean against that warmth, knowing this is likely the only moment of tenderness you are about to receive.

His hot palm slides past your jaw, fingers curling into your hair so he can tilt your head with a fist at the base of your skull. He turns you this way and that, lazy, just so you can feel his control, and sink deeper into the magic. “I am going to ride you hard tonight,” he promises, palm swiping lewd beneath that belt. “But first…” he trails off, leaning in to breathe hot and hungry against your ear. “I have not yet had my fill of blood.”

Your fingers squeeze against the wooden posts, the ones that the human sacrifice had been tied between as the sun’s light was fading.

You watch his hand wrap around the knife in his belt.

“Should I tie you?” It’s a question of your limits, and of your comfort. Would it be easier to hold still, to let yourself be at his mercy, if soft cords around your wrists held you up while your mind and spirit went flying. Or would you feel safer to hold back just a bit of your own control.

“Yes,” you choose, and Ubbe binds you deftly, with the skill of long practice trussing up his prey. Your arms are spread wide, helpless to defend. It will help you last longer for your King.

He steps behind you. Fur brushes against your bare arm; his hand comes down on the back of your neck. He gathers up your hair, scooping it over your shoulder. It could be a tender gesture except that you know the reason for it. Taking it out of his way. His hand rests, just a moment, at the nape of your neck. His fingers twitch, tapping against you, and you imagine the way that his lip curls when he’s having dark thoughts. Warring with his choices.

Both hands fist in the top of your dress, and then he’s tearing it open down your back. The cold air invades deeper, tingling down your spine as King Ubbe bares you to his liking.

His hand rests on your shoulder. He’s close enough that the soft fur of his mantle glides silky against your newly-revealed back. You sink into that feeling as he shifts behind you. And then comes the cold tip of the knife, pricking at the back of your neck.

You whimper.

“Oh, yes,” Ubbe growls. Here comes the cruelty his eyes had promised. That rich tone in his voice tells you he is enjoying every sign of your fear.

Your muscles clench and ripple as the knife’s blade travels across the back of your shoulders. He’s not cutting you yet so you’re trying to hold it together, but even the anticipation is sending you to a wild, desperate place.

“You don’t like my kiss?”

The metal should be warm; it had just been nestled against his stomach. But it’s not, and he’s letting you feel its sharpness now, and it’s impossible not to flinch. The bonds were a good idea.

“Would you rather the strap?”

The knife is erotic, but it’s been a while since you’ve been kissed by the leather of Ubbe’s belt, and you are already in the perfect position, aren’t you. You nod, quickly, and hope the affirmative noise you make doesn’t sound too much like a whine.

You hear a satisfied sound, but the knife keeps moving. His voice drops to a throaty whisper. “I want to watch the blood drip.” He presses in, along the top of your shoulder and one outstretched arm. The line is sharp, the pain crisp and clear and utterly tantalizing. When he copies it on the other side, one deep, satisfying sting from the back of your neck to the crease of your elbow, your ferocious satisfaction comes out as a giggle. “That’s my girl,” he says, sighing a little on the first syllable.

When you turn your head, you can see what he’s done to the tops of your arms, watch the dark crimson beads well up from the shallow lines. And you catch a glimpse of him pulling your favorite old belt from beneath the wide, ceremonial one.

“The ritual we did here served the whole community,” Ubbe tells you. “What I do now, is just for me.” He kicks your legs a little wider apart. Ubbe folds the belt in half, squaring his stance, exposed chest swelling, and although you love to watch him you drop your head forward to brace your body for what’s coming now.

But he doesn’t start hard. The strap thuds against you dully at first, waking up your back, calling all your awareness into your body as he warms you to endure. A rhythm settles in, impacts spread across your upper and middle back, then angling down to the swell of your ass and back up again, until your skin no longer feels the cold.

You glance at your arms; your body shakes slightly with every impact and it’s making the little beads of blood quiver and fall. You can only imagine that those delicate little streaks are exactly the decoration he wanted to see on you tonight.

His strikes fall harder; you start to squirm and gasp.

“That’s it,” he rumbles. “Show me how much you can take.”

It’s not long before you’re crying out as each fresh blow lands, your flesh oversensitized, possibly bruising. it stings around the edge of every thud, and every time he completes his circuit around your back the pain intensifies on the next round. And yet, you feel your own strength inside every blow, the proudness of your back, the thickness of your muscles. You flex against your bonds and show him you are Viking too. Even as you hiss between your teeth, and when your cries become ragged sobs, you are proud.

“Three more,” he urges, and you pull yourself up from where you’ve sagged against the bonds, and howl against the final wicked blows that set your back on fire.

And then Ubbe is there, soothing your skin with his own hands, making placating, awed sounds as he drops to his knees behind you and inspects all the damage he has done.

“Gorgeous,” he moans, and his tongue laps up a line of blood that has crept down your shoulderblade.

You can handle only the lightest of touches across your back. Ubbe reads your whimpers and your hisses, lets his palms run down to the globes of your ass where the remnants of your dress provided some small measure of protection. The feel of his caresses there is much more exciting, the battered flesh rising to his touch, pleased with his attentions. You thrust your hips back and he groans, almost as if you’ve struck him too.

“I have to have you.” He struggles to lift the bottom of your torn dress, then gives that up in favor of ripping it deeper, separating the back until it hangs off the front of your arms in a useless sheet. His body pulls in closer behind you, his hands scooping up the front to your breasts. He inhales deeply just behind your ear. “Mine.”

You sigh your agreement, sagging into your bonds once more, pressing your body back against him. One hand stays on your breast, pinching and pulling at your nipple, while the other comes down to find the wetness between your legs.

“All mine.” His fingers find all the right places, but just a bit too urgently for any real finesse. He works you open quickly, then bites at the side of your neck. “Let’s get you up.”

You feel his reluctance to let go of your most intimate places. You’re also grateful that he’s taking mercy on your knees and your stretched joints, and isn’t going to try fucking up into you while you struggle to keep balance atop this altar.

His fur mantle envelops you both as he reaches forward to release one wrist, then the other. He curls you back against his chest, carefully, so he can rub at your wrists for a few soothing moments. “Stretch your legs,” he orders, and helps you get them straightened out in front of you.

The great fur comes off his shoulders, then he’s spreading it out across the ground.

“On your stomach.” He helps you down to it, removing your ruined shift and positioning you stretched out on your belly. It feels so good to lie flat, to relax every aching muscle. To feel the fur along your entire naked body.

And then Ubbe is settling in on top of you. His whiskers trace along your back as he kisses the worst of the marks he’s left there. His thighs slide against yours, naked, and his cock presses huge and solid against your ass.

You hear him spit; you feel it, as some saliva escapes his hand and dribbles onto your back. He rubs that moisture between your legs, making certain he won’t be stopped when he presses his cock deep, deep into you. “Don’t pass out yet.” Hovering over you, he starts to line himself up. “But I won’t make you get up.”

He feels so large this way, invading between your thighs despite how close together they are pressed. It only takes a slight angling of your hips to ensure he sinks home the right way. You feel every inch of him, forcing his way inside. And he just keeps coming.

His warm sigh lands on your cheek, with a deep noise that’s as elongated as his entry. It must be something about this angle that makes it feel like he’s spearing you so incredibly deep. Or perhaps it’s just the magic of the sacrifice. He grunts a little when he finally bottoms out, a delicious, satisfied noise, then tries to grind you down through the ground.

No mercy for you tonight. His little growling noises sound like there’s an animal above you, not a man, as his great, rollicking thrusts bounce off the cushion of your ass and plunge back in ever deeper. His mouth drops to your shoulder. No kisses anymore, just scraping teeth and swiping tongue. Worrying at the marks he’s left on you already. The stretch of his cock against your inner walls is almost unbearable, the fiery ecstasy you knew he would be promising.

You lift yourself up to meet him.

“Yes,” he groans, pulling at your hips with his hands, helping your body rise and push back against his onslaught, deepening it for yourself, calling out all the aggression he might want to give you. “Oh gods, yes. You were made for me.”

On your knees, being mounted like a mare now, there’s no sweeter thought than being entirely Ubbe’s creature. His hands grasp wide and hard around your hips as he raises up and drives himself rhythmically into you.

“Arch your back.” His hand swipes down your spine, activating the abused nerves of your back once more, pushing your shoulders down toward the earth so he can plunge even deeper, or maybe it just presents a more pleasing view. You comply, of course, anything he wants, and he starts hitting a spot inside you that makes your eyes cross.

“Ubbe—” you moan, losing all other words, but he seems to know what you mean as he keeps his thrusts centered at that precise angle. Lightning flickers through your limbs as thunder builds in your core. It’s rare for you to come like this, but he just—doesn’t—stop.

The storm breaks. Your body clenches all around him, and you scream to the heavens through your teeth as wave after wave of pent-up tension surges through you, like every strike, every cut, every thick and choking moment of anticipation he’s given you tonight were all kindling on the pile for this inevitable conflagration. Your cries are ragged and raw, and in between them you hear your King finding his own pleasure right behind you.

His thrusting intensifies, driving you into the ground again as he keens out his own release through gritted teeth and clutching fingers.

You lie motionless until he’s done. In truth you’re not certain how long it will be before your muscles will listen to you again, before your legs might possibly be ready to carry you down from this sacred hill.

Ubbe swirls his hips, still buried deep inside you. “Good,” he pants. “You did so good for me tonight, my love.” His cock may be softening but it’s still entirely plugging you. “I’m not going to let a single drop escape.” He kisses at your shoulder, careful to touch only uninjured skin. “I want us to have made a child tonight. To make this seed take hold.”

You smile. “Only the gods may decide that.”

You open your eyes to see Ubbe’s brow twitching above your exhausted shoulder. “And do you not think they will give me whatever I ask tonight? For surely, we have called their attention.” His beaming face snuggles in closer. “The evening sacrifice was to make the land fertile. Do you not think that the blood you shed tonight will fulfill the same prayer?” His hand presses between you and the ground, until his palm cups your lower belly. “They have to listen to me tonight. And I command it to be so.”

He is your King. How can you not believe him. You swear you feel a golden warmth emanating from his hand as you let your eye fall closed into a contented, well-deserved peace.


End file.
